


Never Apart

by Kroissant



Series: Felannie Works [12]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst and Tragedy, Comrades in Arms, F/M, Forbidden Love, Friendship, Gift Work, Idiots in Love, Lost Love, Male-Female Friendship, Other, century old bond between two Houses, crash course of history, gift fanfic for felannie fever discord server, origin of Ten Elites
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2021-02-24 16:13:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21740767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kroissant/pseuds/Kroissant
Summary: History is written by victors of war.Time and time again, it converges. It repeats.And yet, above all else, fate persists for one to meet another.A dear friend.Lost love.Sworn brother.Forever, partners.Hence is a narrative of two Houses—Fraldarius and Dominic, an age-old bond stretching beyond time.
Relationships: Annette Fantine Dominic & Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Annette Fantine Dominic/Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Kyphon/Agnes, Kyphon/OC
Series: Felannie Works [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1450996
Comments: 39
Kudos: 32





	1. First Friendship

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Star_on_a_Staff](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Star_on_a_Staff/gifts), [KayMoon24](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KayMoon24/gifts), [LunaChai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunaChai/gifts), [BreadyCakes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BreadyCakes/gifts), [thetsunderemage](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thetsunderemage/gifts), [Lep](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lep/gifts), [kenji1104](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kenji1104/gifts), [ruroeroori](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruroeroori/gifts), [ThePrimeOne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePrimeOne/gifts), [gentleleaves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gentleleaves/gifts), [BiaPendragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BiaPendragon/gifts), [aster_isks](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=aster_isks), [MadameHyde](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadameHyde/gifts), [thir13enth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thir13enth/gifts).



> Originally, this was meant to be a one-shot full of fluff.
> 
> But thanks to my dumb brain, a big idea hit me and of course, a challenge is a challenge!
> 
> I get inspired by my dreams, you see, and if something gets my interest, oh you bet I'm going to write about it! This layout is quite similar to my previous completed works, Father and Son + Place Called Home. This is all for the many folks at Felannie Fever Discord Server! I hope you all enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, this was meant to be a one-shot full of fluff.
> 
> But thanks to my dumb brain, a big idea hit me and of course, a challenge is a challenge!
> 
> I get inspired by my dreams, you see, and if something gets my interest, oh you bet I'm going to write about it! This layout is quite similar to my previous completed works, Father and Son + Place Called Home. This is all for the many folks at Felannie Fever Discord Server! I hope you all enjoy!

* * *

Raging, red wildfire.

Cries of anguish, and torture.

Human flesh burned, impaled, and left in ruin.

Fresh blood splattered across the burning fields in galore.

Pulling tight to the reins on her winged steed with all her might, the female knight soared victoriously through the hazy, smoke-filled puffs of clouds.

Inhaling a sharp breath in, she plunges downward and descends gracefully—more fierceness, more energy—and effortlessly sweeps the turf of her enemies with graceful friction by her razor-sharp weapon.

Fresh, blood seeps and oozes in her hands, splattering on her suit of armor and her lustrous shield.

Yet, she did not fret.

She did not linger with her emotions.

No, there was never time for that.

To survive, one must keep going—as what her family would console her time and time again.

Flying behind her was her partner-in-crime, another knight riding on the back of a mighty wyvern, galloping through the opaque skies wielding a humongous, glowing axe at hand. Sparks of ashes ensue, and within seconds, crackling showers of purple thunder rained heavily down on the tormented land. Whistling sounds of the wind carrying the final breaths of the Nabateans reach the rider's ears and she inhales another deep breath to keep her brave face intact.

Peeking over her shoulder, the female knight keenly observes her male counterpart who stops to close his eyes and bows his head, ushering a low prayer for the decease to travel safely to the next world. Her heart aches at such a tender moment, and when she notices him averting his head to her direction, she rewards him with a faint, sentimental smile.

She straightens her posture and puffs out her chest with confidence.

She needed to be strong—for herself, and him.

Without a word, she raises a fist bump into the air, a signal of their sworn partnership to protect the other.

The male wyvern lord nods at this gesture and mimics her, and after sharing another one of their silent exchanges, the pair moves on to join the rest of their group amidst the turmoil.

* * *

Inside the bunker, life was teeming with excitement.

The confined space was full and crowded of the many soldiers, generals, and the special elite—with all of whom unanimously favored their current leader, Nemesis.

For a brief, fleeting moment, they welcome a celebration to their victory—ravaging and cleaning off Zanado off the map entirely.

Tales of their heroic deeds, of participating in the massacre would surely be sung by the young and old, and to the next generations—a precarious endeavor greatly befitting to be written in history books.

Or so they assume themselves to believe.

Sitting at the far, end of the table was a young man with striking, bright orange hair and tired, brown eyes.

His three-spiked helmet, patterned with a few scratches and scrapes along with the metallic shell and the outer lining, was placed carelessly on the surface of the table for all to bear witness. He drinks his tea in silence, choosing to stray away from the others and blocking out the various women in the background flashing him seductive looks at his end.

“Dominic,”

He slowly lifts his chin and his stiff expression relaxes as he catches a familiar face coming into view.

Like him, she was removed of her helmet to conceal her face—revealing her identity to be a beautiful, small woman with short, wind-swept black hair and deep, dark blue eyes. She stops in place, and shoots a glance at him, waiting for his acceptance.

The man nods and without a word, she sits down across from him at the table.

Crossing her arms, she sighs heavily.

"Lady Fraldarius—champion with her blade and her gallant, noble steed," Dominic sings impressively, "Governs many battles, but tires quickly from a soiree,"

Fraldarius rolls her eyes. “I did not come here to be entertained,” She states bluntly, “And I did not come here simply to be ridiculed,”

Dominic tips his head. “Then tell me, what exactly are you here for?”

“Gald, of course,”

"Not surprised," Dominic replies and sets down his empty cup. "You and I, and the rest commit to the same frame of mind,"

Hearing this, Fraldarius rolls her eyes. “What would you expect from a bunch of low-life bandits?”

Dominic leans back a little, smiling. “Easy there, my friend,” He consoles, putting a finger to his lips, and then averts his gaze over to their other comrades. “You wouldn’t want to rile up a certain you-know-who on the other side,”

“Don’t care, really,” Fraldarius shrugs, frowning deeply. “I don’t get it. He takes a flimsy sword, kills off hundreds of people, and all of a sudden, he’s all high and mighty?” She rants out, shaking her head. “It doesn’t add up.”

“Call it what you will,” Dominic goes on, his voice slightly induced with merriment. “But I bet one Gald you are just jealous that he gets to have a sword and you don’t.”

Fraldarius glares at him.

Dominic widens his grin. “Was I correct?”

He observes his partner opening her mouth to protest, then closes it and he chuckles when she quickly turns her head to avoid his eyes. What a rare sight to see her so flustered.

With a faint smile, Dominic leans back on his seat and takes a look at his helmet resting on the table. His eyes linger in on the protective gear and frown.

Fraldarius notices this change of demeanor. She shifts her eyes to the helmet as well, then back at her quiet friend. Without hesitation, she extends her hand, placing it in on top of his own.

At this, Dominic moves his head to look at her, curious yet wary of her intentions.

“Do you remember what I’ve told you? Before the battle?” She asks him innocently, and to her relief, he flashes a smile at her.

"How could I forget?" Dominic responds, and taking her hand, squeezes it tightly. "At this point, I would say that it's become my mantra,"

Fraldarius snorts at his strange sense of humor. “I am proud to call you my friend, Dominic,” She expresses sincerely and truthfully, “Always remember that I will be here for you,” Letting go of her hand from his, she signals a passing waitress to serve her tea. A minute later, and upon receiving it, Fraldarius doesn’t hesitate to raise her cup high into the air.

On cue, Dominic does the same.

They exchange looks of silent approvals; eyes embedded with a similar streak of determinism.

“Partners?”

Dominic nods, “Partners,” He confirms, and together, allow the rims of their cups to touch and emit a light clank. “Till the very end,”

Shortly after he delivers those words, the pair immediately indulge themselves in a quick competition of consuming their drinks. Unsurprisingly, Fraldarius finishes without a hinge and arrogantly boasts her victory with a loud belch.

Dominic offers her a cheeky grin, clapping his hands at a job well done. “Extraordinary,” He comments, earning a playful smack on his plated shoulder.

As Fraldarius settles back to her seat, she offers her friend a quick dart to the corridors, followed by a wicked smile slowly spreading across her lips.

Dominic becomes aware of this and following her line of direction to where she was referring to, all he could do was shake his head in dismay.

“…Fine, you can use my relic,”

Fraldarius beams. “Yes!” She cries aloud, thrusting a fist bump into the open air. “Kickass hammer, here I come!”

And off she ran—though seconds later, her friend Dominic was quick to tail after her, growing concern and fearful of the damage the woman could pull off with her recently acquired Major Crest.

* * *

After her ghastly, public execution of Nemesis in single-combat, the renowned Fell King of Liberation was no more and Saint Seiros won triumphantly.

At long last, the War of Heroes came to an end.

And along with it, the promise of peace and security throughout the continent of Fódlan would bore fruition for all.

With Nemesis no longer in the picture, what became of his subordinates, the Ten Elites—in conviction to their war crimes and their active participation in the slaughter of the Nabateans at Zanado, were at a standstill.

Here they were, away from a fairly good distance from the battlefield, and yet, it did not saturate the looming tension among the ten.

“We cannot stay here,” Bladdiyd tells his comrades, mounting on his dark horse. “We must flee, and separate if we can to survive,”

“But what of our promise?” Gautier wonders aloud, taking a step forward with his Lance of Ruin at hand. “What of the Gald Nemesis promised us—”

“Are you daft!?” Fraldarius interrupts, causing many to turn their heads. She marches straight for the middle-aged Great Knight who flinches at her abrupt proclamation. In spite of her shortness of height, she still manages to evoke a sense of alarm and panic on the man twice the size as her.

“Our leader has been defeated,” She begins, raising her voice, “We are branded as criminals, sworn an oath to keep our relics and the Crests we were blessed upon. And yet, attaining a lousy piece of Gald is worth more than your own life?”

She narrows her eyes, ready to throw more insults at their oh so righteous general but stops herself the moment she felt something warm and solid placed on the side of her right shoulder. The falcon knight relaxes a little, knowing full well that Dominic was there right behind her.

“Fraldarius,” He calls out to her, and in response, she stops her ranting.

Clicking her tongue, Fraldarius focuses her attention on her friend who stood solemnly in their circle.

"Control that woman, Dominic," The middle-aged War Master Goneril advises the wyvern rider, nudging him.

At this, Dominic is quick to avert his gaze at his comrade, flashing him a death glare.

Gloucester suddenly turns quiet. Clearing his throat, he retreats back to stand between Charon and Gloucester who too, grew uneasy.

Witnessing such a scene causes Fraldarius to smirk, and gives her friend a slight nod of approval for standing his ground.

Dominic registers this, and breathing in, seizes the opportunity to speak out.

“We must all follow after Bladdiyd’s example,” He suddenly proposes, his voice earnest, and directs his attention to his surrounding comrades. “If we must hide, so be it. Right now, it is all we can do to survive.”

Low mutterings within the group ensue.

“But what of the Gald—” Gauthier presses, and stops entirely when he feels a cold, menacing stare coming from the female falcon knight standing beside him.

“We don’t need it,” Dominic reveals to him, unflinching at their dramatic gasps.

“Where do you suggest we travel next?” A blind woman by the name of Lamine points out, with Daphnel the Holy Knight and Goneril the War Master in close proximity with her. “If there is no place to welcome us, where must we stay?”

Silence.

"We make a place for our own," Dominic continues and strolls over to his wyvern. He stretches his hand out to his companion, and the wyvern tips its head, wailing as it melts under his commander's touch. Dominic smiles at this and without bothering to turn back and fix his sights on his allies, adds onto his lingering sentence, "We have the resources to do so,"

The growing whispers and concerns heighten, and Fraldarius doesn't mask hers this time. She peers at the glowing shield strapped on her left shoulder and swallows thickly. She spots a glance at the others. She wasn't the only one keeping an eye on the personal relics bestowed to them.

“Dominic speaks the truth,”

Heads are turned to focus in on the waiting dark knight on his horse, the cover of his helmet screening away his true expression from the world. “At this moment, we must depart. It is the only way for our survival to remain true,” Gripping tight of his radiating lance, he aims it high to the skies and steadies his restless steed with his reins. “It was an honor working with all of you,”

And that was it.

Bladdiyd spoke the final word and serving as the temporary leader of their small crew, dismisses the members. He was the first to leave, with Daphnel, Gautier, and Charon hot in his trail—heading to the cold, frigid north.

Riegan, Goneril, and Gloucester came next, huddled close as they ventured off to the western borders—to a temperate, and inviting climate.

This left Lamine on her own, and taking pity on her, Dominic takes the initiative to invite her on the back of his wings and escort her to her birthplace—to the southeast.

Fraldarius remains conflicted with where she must go, and naturally, she shadows her friend who took on a hazardous task to deliver their comrade safely home.

For safe measure, they dropped Lamine near the southern border and bidding farewells, the pair of friends were left to decide where they must flee to.

As they near the coast of the decimated land they once seized and conquered, Fraldarius tightens her grip on her reins. The time of darkness was unfolding, and the light of the stars, along with the moon would bear as witnesses to where they must descent.

The pair pushes further into the skies, camouflaging through the misty fogs of the white, cotton clouds and allowing the insufferable silence to drag on.

"North seems like a suitable choice. Harsh weather, low supplies, perfect for raising families," Fraldarius says mockingly, and sighs deeply, frustrated and well-aware that by daring to settle there would possibly mean welcoming a possible encounter with one of their haughty allies. "And you, Dominic? Have you chosen?"

When she doesn’t hear from him, she worries and averts her attention to take a look at him.

“Dominic?”

The wyvern lord voices out a line of words, but she hears it and her heartbreaks.

“Speak a bit louder so I could hear you,” She instructs him, already knowing where it was leading to.

Dominic pulls up the covering of his helmet and she sees it—a sorrowful grin plastered on his slight, worn-out face. “This is where we part ways, my friend,” He speaks to her as if it were his last, and Fraldarius tries hard to keep her composure.

She was reckless and arrogant, but since the beginning of their journey—sworn as partners in the battlefield and sparking an unbreakable friendship amidst the chaos, she had always relied on Dominic to be her rock. And even now, he still was that to her.

It was almost three years since they joined the siege to take revenge against the Nabateans and appointed Nemesis as their leader, became a team with the other eight, and have their names painted in the redness of the blood of their enemies, and heroes in the eyes of the children, women, and men whom they manage to rescue—most of which were insisted by Dominic, and Fraldarius being there simply to keep him in line.

They went through so much together, and to suddenly be forced apart felt… off.

"Will we see each other again?" Fraldarius asks rather innocently, and to her relief, her good friend nods his head. "You better stay alive, you hear?" She goes on to tell him, putting on another brave face. "Wherever your heart takes you…" She trails off and chews on her bottom lip.

“I know,”

Fraldarius hears this and she looks up to face him.

Dominic gives her another one of his pleasant smiles. “And I’ll take your word for that,” Shaping his hand into a fist, he elevates it high above his head.

Fraldarius notices this and she grins cheekily. She does the same, and together, they share one, last silent exchange.

“Until next time, Freya,”

“You too, Derrick,”

And with that, her dear friend leaves her in the open skies as he moves on without her—to the frigid north, it would seem but where exactly, nobody knows.

All alone to collect her thoughts, Freya glimpses at her shield and lightly grazes her gloved hand across its shiny surface. For so long she was orphaned, with her family slaughtered and birth home obliterated. Becoming friends with Derrick was one of the best things she would never forget—besting him in practice and becoming quick friends after, and as much as she hates to admit, the rest of the other eight was all she really had, or truly consider as her family for such time-being.

And now, she had another duty—one which she would commit herself to, the last, and final order given to her by Bladdiyd. Along with that, she was entrusted with something important—a relic, and running through her veins, was a Major Crest, one she takes pride in receiving after landing a powerful blow on the Shield Dragon.

Such a bloodline was sacred, and she must survive for it to keep flowing and persist for the next generation.

It was going to be difficult, but…

"Stay vigilant," She encourages herself and heaves a deep breath. Tugging on the reins, she flies forth—to a bright future, and after many hours of wandering, chose to settle at the northeastern point of the arctic wasteland, and close to the ocean—sparking memories of her old, port town.

Her name—Freya Fraldarius shall live on to her descendants, to their children, and so on.

Many years passed, and she remains away from the battlefield, and closely in kin to the family she effortlessly raised on her own.

In her own time, Fraldarius would write letters to her dear friend Dominic.

...She couldn't locate him. And so, she tucks them away inside her journals in secret.

Up till her death, her wishes to one day meet her friend again never came to be.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Welcome to my crash-course history of Fodlan, with House Fraldarius and Dominic taking center stage! In this particular narrative, we trace back to the very beginning, to many references alluding to certain events from the game, and beyond the future! But let's not get ahead of ourselves!
> 
> Alas, this is only just the beginning! Tomorrow will be another chapter, so please look forward to it!
> 
> To those who did not receive the dedication notification, let me know as there were some who I couldn't link here. As always, I wish you all a wonderful day!


	2. Lost Love Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for waiting!
> 
> And of course, you all know me as being an impatient person! So, when the clock strikes twelve, magic happens!
> 
> With that, I present to you my second (and favorite) chapter in this multi-chapter series!
> 
> ...Please don't kill me after this, I swear I didn't mean to make this intentional
> 
> And as a warning, I've cried while writing most of this, so BE PREPARED WITH TISSUES!

* * *

Time passes, and after many centuries of peace and prosperity, another war was brewing.

It was the year of 750, and disparity arises between the esteemed Adrestian Empire and a wave of nobles and soldiers in rebellion.

Leading the charge was Loog, a young commander and current heir of House Blaiddyd.

Despite the small numbers of supporters, in the beginning, his efforts to reach out to the other descendants of the remaining nine elites proved to be great in his favor—with the first descendant stepping up to be one hailing from House Fraldarius, and his sworn accomplice, Kyphon.

Next came House Gautier and Daphnel, Charon, and in later years, Dominic.

Five of the descendants—each wielding a heroic relic of their own, were successfully gathered and together, march alongside their chosen leader into the fray.

.

.

.

The next assault was at Tailtean Plains.

Two weeks away from the appointed battle, and the army was growing restless.

The camping site for the rebellion stretched far and wide, close to the border of the northwest, where the open ocean welcomes one and all for a moment to recollect, unease, and store plentiful of resources.

Needless to say, the time of leisure did not hinder for long as generals barked numerous orders to the anxious soldiers and nobles to begin preparations—writing letters to their loved ones, forging and repairing their old equipment with something new, practicing tirelessly and effortlessly in the open fields.

The cold persists as night falls, and the twinkling of stars shimmers brightly to those who manage to catch a glimpse of their beauty.

Under the tree was a young man, clad in a long, navy blue coat with trimmings of obsidian and silver along the rims and edges. There were bits and pieces of armors attached to his shoulders, elbows, and chest, though just for tonight, he removes them to properly relax his back against the bark of the tree. His long, black hair was let loose of its ponytail, paying no mind to the cold wind passing by.

Opening his narrow, dark eyes, he zooms in on the tranquil setting of the campsite not too far away from where he was stationed and allows his gaze to linger for a few minutes.

He searches through the canopies hanging loosely above each of the tents, and it wasn’t long until he found a certain one that piqued his interest. He stares at the open flap of the tent, and remains at his spot, folding his arms and contemplating over whether he should go or—

His eyes slightly widen, and he sees it—a tiny silhouette emerging out from the same tent. He straightens his posture, clears his throat, and fixes his sights on the newcomer.

Though it was rather difficult to see, he didn’t need a device nor any exposure of light to confirm.

No, he already knew who it was.

And when she spots him from a mile away and waves a hand at him, his heart quickens. The man flusters but doesn’t return the same gesture. Unfortunately, she notices this and strolls toward him.

The man doesn't move but lets his eyes remain fixed on his target approaching.

His heart was pulsating, and the reason for that was slowly coming into light.

“Kyphon,”

Finally, he peers up and he inhales a sharp breath in.

She was a short woman, with long, bright orange curls cascading freely down her mid-torso.

Shiny, green eyes and a round, childlike face.

A mole next to her right eye, and another under her lip.

A small, button nose, with dimples and a faint scar along her temple.

The sheer brightness of the moonlight filters through the many patches of the leaves overhead, framing her physical form with tiny sparkles dancing along with the fair, porcelain skin of her exposed nape, to the purple shawl she had on her shoulders, to her green nightgown and thin slippers she wore.

She was a dainty little thing, seemingly so fragile and like a doll.

"Kyphon!" She repeats, louder than the first, "Are you listening?"

He always did, though refuses to admit it aloud to her. Instead, he looks up and slightly dips his head.

The woman rolls her eyes and folds her arms over her chest. She seats herself down next to him under the tree, though inches away from him, creating a bigger gap between them than what was intended.

Keeping this in mind, Kyphon grins to himself and scoots a little closer.

Good, she didn’t see.

He moves in, getting closer and closer, and—

“Ahh!”

The woman yelps, and within seconds, her startled outburst was replaced by that of harsh giggles as the man playfully resorts to tickling her sensitive parts.

"S-stop! K-Kyphon!" She pleads through her fit of giggling, and he abides by her. Completely out of breath, she places her hands close to her chest and shoots a glare in his direction. "Geez, what is with you?"

Kyphon shrugs. “Can’t help it when I’m with you,” He remarks, and grins when he sees the red blush creeping up on her face. He was a fortress, though he does often express emotion to those familiar to him, particularly Loong and a few of his friends. But when it came to her, he lets his defenses down entirely, and he accepts it.

Placing his elbow firmly on the soil, Kyphon uses his opposite hand to lightly brush away the strands on the woman’s forehead, careful yet tender. Sharing the same contact, Kyphon closes in, leaning to brush their lips together, but before doing so, gives her a silent stare and waits.

The woman’s breathing hitches and she smiles, slowly nodding.

Kyphon’s expression softens and he dives in, not too strong but plenty enough to let it linger with hers for a few more minutes. A taste of her and it ignites fireworks inside his stomach.

The peaceful serenity of the open environment, the romantic mood settling in, an impressive backdrop of the stilled night—both time and place was aligned perfectly well for their sake. The growing friction and hunger to claim her as his was tormenting, and as he withdraws his lips from hers, dares to shower her with light butterfly kisses along her exposed neck.

“K-Kyphon…” She hisses and covers her mouth to prevent her moaning from escaping.

He hears her low whimpering—so smooth, and warm like honey. He takes this as a notion to keep advancing. He wanted to hear more and feel more of her.

As he inserts his hand underneath her dress and ventures a little further to the chest area, all of a sudden, he feels a tight grip around his wrist. Kyphon blinks and looks up, surprised to discover that it was coming from her.

“Agnes?”

He waits for a response from her, ever so patient and willing to listen.

"…Kyphon," His lover calls out and gently removes his hand from inside her nightgown. She refuses to look at him in the eye, and it worries him.

Before he could say something, she beats him to it.

“…You know we can’t,”

Kyphon hears this and frowns deeply.

But he doesn’t say anything. He refuses to and lets the eerie silence speak for him.

Under the council of the Church of Seiros and order of their young Commander Loog, it was prohibited for representatives of their respective Houses—especially to the acclaimed heirs and heiresses, to engage in sexual intercourse.

An issue which most nobles were adamant to follow to keep the numbers of Crests from getting out of control.

Kyphon sighs, and buries his face on her chest, closing his eyes and inhales the faint smell of her floral perfume. He could feel her soft breathing, her heart pulsating evenly in sync with his…and her humming, sweet and feather-like, just like her.

He feels something warm stroke his long, black hair and he unwinds, outstretching his hand and lets it coil with hers, tightening it and refusing to let go of the lingering warmth. Secretly, he wishes to let the moment that they have—right here and now—to persist a little while longer.

He was Kyphon, heir to House Fraldarius—deeply infatuated with his lover named Agnes, heiress to House Dominic.

* * *

Three years into the rebellion and Loog's forces were at an all-time low.

Short on funds and reserves, the young Commander was demanding more troops to join their forces. Their miracle came in the form of Agnes who one day arrived on their doorstep with plentiful resources and nearly hundreds of soldiers under her liege.

Since the War of Heroes, House Dominic was predominately ruled by a majority of males—a traditional feat in honor of their ancestor. It so happens that this time, Agnes was elected to be their first female frontrunner, breaking the patriarchal custom and welcoming a new wave of change.

Unsurprisingly, her presence alone—as the only female to attend the Round Table, piqued great interest among her male subordinates, particularly the male house leaders.

Kyphon was among her first admirers, more so upon discovering her inheritance of bearing a Major Crest, similar to him.

Such a rare opportunity was enough to prompt him into challenging her in battle—one, which she was willing to partake.

The practice battle between heir and heiress took nearly fifteen minutes, and in spite of Kyphon naturally winning, he’d admit how there were a few shortcomings where he nearly got toppled or caught off guard by her absurd strength and energy of wielding a large, magical hammer.

Then came one of the skirmishes, and by Loog's order, Kyphon serves as his right-hand 'shield'—with Gautier, Daphnel, and Dominic selectively chosen to command the other platoons within the field.

By the end of the battle, their valiant efforts claimed their victory—with Agnes of House Dominic taking up the spot of landing the most critical hits.

In less than a month, Agnes won the hearts of many.

A refreshing take and a wonderful model for many women prepared to take up arms to join and fight for their beliefs.

Her record-breaking score became the talk of the town for the next few weeks, attracting many of their soldiers to the training grounds for a chance to catch a glimpse of the famous heiress and her magical hammer said to 'plummet foes with its godly, crushing strength'.

Along with that, there came showers of marital proposals requesting for her hand coming her way almost every single day.

There were some even written anonymous—most of which Agnes was quick to recognize the familiar handwriting belonging to the ever so dashing young successors, Abel Gautier and Jermaine Daphnel, and on some occasions, even by a few nobles. Compared to the rest, these were written with threats, and warnings of her rising power in their group.

One wrong move, and she was done for.

And yet, none of it seemed to matter for Agnes.

For the only person who she ever cared about was her equal—Kyphon of House Fraldarius.

Since she was recruited, they were mostly found together.

Be it in the dining hall, seating next to each other at the Round Table, or practicing in the training grounds, they were inseparable.

Like wind and fire, they were polar opposites and yet, they came to a neutral standing of support and encouraging the other. Their chemistry was fluid and compatible, with the two working harmoniously in the tides of battle while Loog plots their next strategies with his advisor, Pan behind closed doors.

Their romance erupted around such a time, their relationship as close allies eventually sealing to that of romance.

Two more years later and everything they’ve fought for was finally coming to an end.

The Adrestian Empire and Loog’s rebellion, now supported and sponsored by the Church of Seiros, were to face off at Tailtean Plains—the same place where the War of the Heroes occurred which their ancestors fought bravely, or so what the historians have written in their books.

Time of pleasantry lessens by the day, and the lovers, all of which their relationship remains unspoken except to Loog who was well-aware of their attraction to one another, did what they could to relish the final moments on earth as if it were their last.

And so, every night, as soon as the lights went out from the campsite and the patrols were initiated, Kyphon would wait on top of the hill and under the tree, waiting for Agnes to emerge from her tent and seek her, and choosing to be at her side with the time he had left.

* * *

So long were the days of lazy afternoons, stargazing under the trees, and resting inside the tents.

Traveling to their final destination, Loog and his army confide to a fortress abandoned entirely by bandits due to the severe droughts in the area.

There, they proceed on organizing their next attacks as the timely premise of the long-awaited battle against the Adrestian Empire was close to knocking at their door.

Kyphon paces back and forth, frowning deeply as he rehearses under his breath.

As he does so, he grips tighter of the small, black box hiding inside the front pocket of his blue jacket—a special commission he requested by one of the finest blacksmiths in their legion to construct with a simple offering of a metal piece from his Levin sword, of Agnes's battle axe, and a supplement cost of a five hundred Gald.

Kyphon fidgets in his spot, growing restless by the minute as he waits in front of the large doors.

In a few short minutes, the daily conference would be over, and he’ll be able to reunite with his beloved.

“You seem livelier,”

Kyphon quickly averts his gaze, surprised to find another individual standing next to him. He lets his eyes travel at the new arrival from head to toe—clad in a long, black garb embellished with blue and white, with a large portion of their face veiled by their large hood.

"Pan," Kyphon addresses the advisor and places a hand on his hip. "What are you doing here?"

“I could say the same for you,” Pan counters, his voice sounding whimsical. “Or is there something in your mind that is delaying you from participating?”

Kyphon looks the other way, blushing. "...Don't know what you're talking about,"

Pan remains unfazed by his comment and smiles earnestly. He removes his hood, revealing long, stark white hair and cloudy, grey eyes.

“I don’t need my sight to see the troubling look on your face,” He goes on, “You should already know, that I prefer to trust my gut more than anything,” A pause. “You sound troubled, but also excited about some sort…as if, you are eager to show something of what you have,”

Kyphon casts him a horrified look. “What did—”

“I don’t have to,” Pan says and then turns his head to face the swordsman.

His cloudy, grey eyes, keen and remarkably insightful, was reading Kyphon like an open book. A smile materializes on his lips. “I pray you will attain what you so desire,”

The doors open wide, catching their attention.

Right away, Kyphon was fixated on Agnes who was the first to leave from the conference room with books pressed to her chest. He steps up to the plate, rushing in to take some of the books from her possession and being rewarded with a lovely smile from her.

Kyphon peeks over his shoulder and catches Pan bowing his head in his direction. Before long, the blind advisor was approached by his sworn friend, Loog, who naturally presented his arm out for the other to take and together, strolls at the opposite end of the halls with the rest in tow.

Kyphon watches them from a distance, and then focuses in on Agnes who flashes him a concerned look.

“Everything okay?” She asks, and he nods responsively, closing the gap between their hands and letting their fingers be intertwined.

“Where to?”

"The old library," Agnes tells him, and Kyphon leads the way through the torch-lit narrow halls, quickening his speed to escape the eyes of soldiers patrolling nearby.

Once they enter the small room, Kyphon was quick to place his pile of books on a table and slyly snake his arms around his lover’s waist, causing her to drop her books and startling her in the process.

"Kyphon!" Agnes cries, and her lover chuckles, resting his head against hers.

Finally, they were alone.

“I have something for you,” He says softly, and slowly removes his right hand to dig into his pocket. He unveils the small box and presents it to Agnes, who looks at him with awed wonder.

“Is this…”

"A ring," He confirms and opens it for her to see—a silver band with a bright, blue gem at the center.

Twirling her around, he allows her to face him and seizes her other hand with his, squeezing it tightly. Kyphon waits patiently for a reaction out of her, and when he receives it, his eyes slowly widen. He reaches out to wipe away the tears leaking on her rosy cheeks with his thumb, and when it fails, he leans in to kiss them one by one.

Agnes smiles at this and reopens her eyes to look at her lover. “You didn’t have to,”

“I know, but I’ve been meaning to give this for a long while now,” Kyphon says, jerking his chin at the small box. “Consider it a gift from me to you—as a token of my respect and immense devotion for you,” He explains further, swallowing thickly. “Please…accept it,”

Agnes stares at the item in his hands, then back at her lover, her face deep in crimson.

Slowly, a smile spreads across her lips. “I will,” She replies, and going on her tip-toes, smacks her lips with his.

The kiss, as always, was invigorating and electric.

Kyphon melts from her touch and with one arm still secured around her, tightens his grip and pulls her closer to his chest.

Agnes was the first to tear herself away from their exchange. She collects her breath, looks up at him again and beams.

Kyphon mirrors her smile and plucking out the ring from the box, carefully slides it on her ring finger. "Starting today," He began, reciting what he could remember from the book of wedding vows he'd read late last night. "I shall be yours and you'll be mine,"

“Rain or shine, together or apart,” Agnes joins in tearfully, enclosing his hand with hers and placing them at the center of her chest. “You’ll always live right here, in my heart,” Breathing in deeply, she glances up at him one more time, and adds in a soft utter, **“Forever, I am yours,”**

 **“Forever, I am yours,”** Kyphon echoes back and kisses her again.

Later that night, the secret lovers retreat to their chambers and for a brief moment, it was just the two of them and nobody else—letting go of their titles, inheritance, and duty weighing on their shoulders…tossing aside the teachings of preserving their purity for marital ceremonies, and the forbidden law, all for the sake to unite and become one under the sheets.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you get the reference?
> 
> This chapter was very heavy with Fodlan history and research! I've also wanted to write something about Loog, Kyphon, and the rebellion which led to the foundation of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus, But what led to the inspiration was the simple lookup on the meaning of Kyphon and--"hunchback". That was all I needed to see to keep writing!
> 
> And the wedding vows I've written--up until the 'forever, I am yours' was very much inspired by Rob Stark's elopement from Game of Thrones!
> 
> Okay, I should probably take a breather and wait for tomorrow!
> 
> Thank you all for your patience, love, and support thus far! I'll see you all tomorrow (not around this time, I hope!) for the next update!


	3. Lost Love Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UPDATE: Don't worry about this, I notified on my Twitter profile, @Kroissant4 of this recent news to split the original second chapter in half in order to keep the pacing consistent.
> 
> Feel free to let me know what you think!

* * *

It was hours before the final battle.

Their young Commander Loog was to be accompanied by Kyphon, and the descendant of Charon. The other generals—Gautier, Daphnel, Dominic, and a few prominent nobles who've risen in their ranks, were to be deployed with the Knights of Seiros, reinforcements as requested and acquired from the Church.

Bidding farewell and showering fortunes to one another, and with the secret lovers sharing another one of their silent exchanges, the rebellion army broke into two different divisions—at the east, Loog and his retainers were to personally encounter against the Adrestian Emperor and his awaiting soldiers.

At the west, the House heirs and nobles were to pave an opening, eliminating as many enemies insight as they possibly could to dominate the battlefield.

Javelins and arrows, burning in the fire, rained heavily on the rebellion.

The conjuring of white and dark magic left and right erupted at every second and every maddening breath.

Clashes of metal against metal resonates, the ferocious batting of winged Pegasus and Wyverns piercing at the ghastly winds.

The battle was at an all-time high—the sudden change of the weather greatly worsening the conditions and limitations.

Kyphon countered as many soldiers as he possibly could, efficiently and swiftly saving his close friend countless times from incoming blows by snipers at a long-range.

With his blade, he slashes and ends the lives of the enemy soldiers in the blink of an eye, dodging and successfully upholding the Aegis Shield attached to his left arm.

He was low on energy, and yet, he knew he had to keep going.

For the future, they fought hard to reach, and the lover he was determined to see once more after the battle was over and won—every step, every breath, and every blow was pivotal.

He could not and will not ever stop.

Breathing hard, Kyphon raises his head and amidst the chaos, he sees her—the warrior woman brandishing her family heirloom, 'Crusher' as she would call it, summon bellows of strong currents of air with the flicker of her hand.

The earth quivers and surrenders under her feet. She was going past her limits, sluggish and dreadfully fatigued.

Kyphon narrows his eyes and he could pick out a few grazes, cuts, and blood leaking from her nostrils and bottom lip.

Agnes was struggling to keep going, still breathing but in a worse state.

From across the battlefield, the pair meet each other’s eyes.

Agnes stares at him longingly, and then…lowering her weapon, she gives him a sad, bitter smile.

And before he could even blink, a large wave of fire consumes the eastern part of the battlefield—ear-piercing screams, soldiers and horses on fire running in a frenzy before collapsing and submitting to their deaths—

“AGNES!”

The fire takes her, consuming her flesh like an invasive disease as were the rest of her subordinates.

She chokes from the smoke, gasping violently for air and in her final moments, stretches her hand out toward his direction, mouthing the last two words of their vows before succumbing to the flames.

Kyphon remains in place, eyes widen and completely shuddering at what he just witnessed.

A stream of tears flowed down on his dirty, sweaty cheeks, and it keeps coming.

His heart stops beating.

He stops breathing.

And deep down, wishes for the rest of the world to burn, and take him away as well.

…No.

Agnes would’ve wanted him to keep going, to keep fighting.

Something ignites within him and squeezing the handle of his sword firmly, he lets out an aggressive battle cry and just like that, loses himself into the fray—mad with hunger, thirst and for revenge on his beloved against the enemy who struck her down along with the rest.

Faster.

Stronger.

...Never enough.

* * *

The War of the Eagle and Lion came to pass.

Loog and what remained of his rebellion army emerged victoriously.

But the victory proved to be short-lived, as thousands of their able men and women fell to their deaths—many close friends, family, and comrades mourning for those unable to stay alive. Banners of red, blue, and white flap gently from the passing wind, and the rotting stench of the carcasses—both human and animal alike—piled together in a heap of mess stretches from miles away.

Heirs of Gautier, Daphnel, and Charon miraculously survived—all except for one.

Agnes of House Dominic perished in the great fire, along with a few notable names from the Knights of Seiros and the recently established House of Rowe.

While Loog and his advisor Pan took responsibility in honoring the dead, Kyphon went straight to the last site he saw his late lover and after searching through the rubble till evening, he finally found her…her corpse, burnt to a crisp from head to toe.

Her once beautiful orange curls completely wiped out, and so did the radiant glow of her wondrous green eyes. Despite her state, she still held her giant hammer as if her life depended on it…and on her right hand was the engagement ring he gifted her, still shining brightly as a glimmer of hope.

Kyphon's lips quiver and ever so slowly, release her hold of her weapon. Casting the hammer aside, he carefully takes his late lover's burned corpse and pulls her closer to his chest, cradling her though not too hard in fear he might make it worse.

Hot, salty tears flooded his cheeks and drip off his chin, landing right at Agnes's left eye. He opens his mouth to utter her name but instead, all that came out were deep, gut-wrenching sobs.

Overwhelmed with emotions, Kyphon clutches the dead body of his lover and breaks down.

His howling could be heard deafeningly for miles at the dead of night.

* * *

Following the untimely demise of their heiress, House Dominic excuses themselves from partaking in any future warfare to recuperate and allow time to elect their next successor.

Agnes would later come to be known as the family’s first and only heiress, as many of her descendants deriving from her younger brothers were predominately selected as males. To prevent another incident like this to happen, elders and the parents of the late heiress from House Dominic petitions the Church of Seiros to censor their surname as not to be reminded of their great loss and to move forward.

Over many years, Agnes's name, along with her victories and records eventually faded in time, though a certain advisor ensured her presence in their army was prominent—granting her with a different name and chronicling her exploits in a novel under a different alias.

* * *

The heir of House Fraldarius returns the domain, dismissing himself from the battlefield to recover. As preordained since his birth, he inherits the title as the next Duke…but refuses to tie the knot. Luckily, his oldest three brothers raised families of their own—future descendants guaranteed to continue on his legacy and name.

Along with his new title, Kyphon frequently visits his close friend Loog at the rising city of Fhirdiad who was recently crowned as the first king to their new nation—the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus.

Together with Pan, Kyphon worked tirelessly to assert equal balance of power and security within the Kingdom—with each of the heirs from the other Houses taking pledge to endorse their allegiance to their new ruler.

Many of Kyphon’s heroic acts in battle were chronicled and widely praised from the public—and while most of Pan’s descriptions of him turned out to be quite chivalrous than what it was originally intended…it didn’t once touch upon his true character.

In reality, Kyphon still griefs the love he lost and keeps a few of her possessions with him. He hides away the ring, along with the many written letters addressed to his late lover in many of his journals—all secretly tucked away in the archives of his family's great library.

Close to the twenty-fifth anniversary of Agnes's death, Kyphon dies of pneumonia and is buried in his family graveyard—thousands of miles away, separated from where his beloved rests in her land.

To honor his close friend, Loog ultimately abolishes the issue of inter-house relationships, openly welcoming marriages between descendants of the Ten Elites—starting with his first grandson who was expected to wed the only daughter from House Riegan in a few months.

.

.

.

One was celebrated and famed as a hero, an example for knights and condemn them of chivalrous deeds, aspiring all future generations.

Another was wiped out from history, with nothing except for her magical hammer that’s unfortunately banned from her other descendants to use, stored in the deepest parts of their domain and kept in under secrecy.

Still, the world would never come to know of their hidden romance—with Loog and Pan being one of the few exceptions to be aware of this and taking it upon themselves to preserve such confidentiality to their graves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all for now!
> 
> Not sure if anybody noticed this but the OC Agnes was loosely inspired by Esmeralda, whose birth name is actually Agnes--and also, Quasimodo, the hunchback's love interest from both movie and novel!
> 
> In the Disney Movie, she was burning in flames--a quick reference to that!
> 
> In the original drafts, Kyphon was supposed to get protected by Agnes who burns in front of him. Mad with anger, Kyphon would be taking Crusher, Dominic's hero relic and wield it momentarily...but honestly, letting them get separated brings more angst into the fray, and thus, came the final draft which you've read!
> 
> For further references, Hunchback of Notre Dame points to the original author, Victor Hugo--deeply rooting to a certain character who happens to be named after him.
> 
> I believe that's it for now!
> 
> Be sure to be on a lookout for the next chapter that would be posting later tomorrow, around 12-1 am!
> 
> Thank you one and all for taking the time to read and for being patient with my updates!


	4. Sworn Brothers Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next comes another trace of time, and I believe you all will enjoy this one in particular.
> 
> I don't have much to say except to please be aware that this is where the story starts to kick in--and how everything will start falling into place.
> 
> Okay, that's good enough to say!
> 
> Let's get cracking!

Decades lapsed and the continent of Fódlan changes.

Branching off from the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus came the formation of Leicester Alliance—a nation governed under the sovereignty of five great houses, with House Riegan elected for leadership by the majority votes.

Traditions and customs stay intact, and history becomes written by the victors of war.

And it repeats, time and time again in a constant cycle, ceaseless and rewinding.

But above all else, fate persists for one to meet another.

Like their predecessors before them, a Fraldarius encountering a Dominic grows likely to occur.

* * *

“Gustave!”

Hearing his name, the orange-haired man peers over his shoulder, narrowing his eyes. Spotting his old housemate from a distance, he sighs heavily. He angles his body to a certain degree, listening to the loud pattering of footsteps coming his way.

A tall man with wavy, dark navy hair and joyful teal eyes approaches him, his expression jaunty and full of excitement.

Only, he wasn’t alone.

Tagging behind the man was a young boy with a short, messy ponytail and wearing a puffy, dark blue coat. His eyes radiant light blue, strikingly resembling that of his father.

Gustave lowers his gaze and raises an eyebrow.

Nestled securely in the boy’s arms was a squirming babe in heavy, white cloth, with his tiny head plotted on tufts of dark blue hair and chubby hands stretched out, constantly patting his older brother’s reddened cheeks.

Gustave returns his sights in on the man standing before him and takes note of the exhaustion in his expression, more so than what he’s generally accustomed to seeing.

Instantaneously, it dawns on him of the situation.

He fidgets uncomfortably from his spot, and awkwardly bows his head. “…Rodrigue,”

“Now, now, you mustn’t do that,” Rodrigue pesters him, chuckling, “Though I’m relieved to see you are still the same as always,”

Gustave gives off a low groan, shaking his head a little. “I could say the same to you,”

To his amusement, Rodrigue broke into a wide grin, placing his hands on his hips as he returns a sentimental grin.

“I hear Francine is about to give birth to a child—a girl, in fact,” Rodrigue began, and a pleasant grin materializes across his lips, “I came by to express my congratulations to you, old friend. Fatherhood is no easy feat,”

Gustave frowns deeply. He glances at the young boy, then back to Rodrigue. “You’ve been quite busy yourself,”

Rodrigue emits a hearty laugh. “Ah, yes,” He agrees, nodding his head and not minding the burning sensation on his cheeks. “It feels like years since I’ve stepped inside this old castle,”

He feels something tug on his pants and veers down to check in on his sons. His expression softens. Suddenly, a thought crosses his mind. "Ah, I believe you still haven't met my two pride and joys," He speaks up, earning Gustave's attention.

Rodrigue bends his knees slightly, placing a hand on top of the small boy’s head, ruffling it. “This is my eldest, Glenn Eugène,”

Gustave nods silently and proceeds to awkwardly wave his hand at the boy's general direction.

The boy puts on a brave face and leers back at him.

Gustave straightens his posture, furrowing his eyebrows.

No doubt, this boy truly is a blood-born Fraldarius.

He averts his focus to the small unidentified bundle, tipping his head. “And the little one?”

“Felix Hugo,” Rodrigue addresses the name quite proudly, grinning widely. “He was named after Evangeline’s all-time favorite writers,” As he says this, he pokes his finger at his youngest son’s chubby, red cheek and chuckles when the babe squirms. “Once he gets a little older, we might be able to figure out if he bears a Major or Minor Crest,”

Gustave blinks, his eyes slightly widening. He sneaks a glance at the eldest Fraldarius son who remains quiet and collected in the background.

As if he had read his mind, Rodrigue steps forward. “I’ve planned to make my eldest into a squire,”

“And his teacher?”

Rodrigue’s grin broadens. “Easy,” He says, “You, obviously,”

Gustave blinks in confusion. “Why me?”

“Are you not aware of your fame? You, my old friend, are among the strongest knights of our generation,” Rodrigue goes on, “Glenn will be remaining at the Capital, and he would need a role model he can easily identify with," A pause. "And just in case, I've gone ahead and made arrangements with Pierre from House Galatea to appoint their only daughter as my son's fiancée,"

Gustave levels his glare. “For what propose would that serve exactly?”

“Glenn does not have a crest, you see,” Rodrigue explains further, “And I would like his future to be as bright and promising as any other with one that has,” He allows his words to settle in, and after a minute of silence, he breaks in with, “Meanwhile, it is also answering the call for help from House Galatea as their lands are unsuitable for cultivation,”

Gustave stands quietly, unsmiling.

Under the intensity of his old friend’s apparent disapproval and silence, Rodrigue counters this with a grin.

“I’ve been contemplating for a while now,” Rodrigue presses on, his voice growing faint, “If it’s no too much to ask, I would like to make a request, one of similar proposition…”

The reaction to his words bears weight and albeit, slightly amusing as he catches the stoic great knight with an unreadable expression.

"Our families have long been allies for centuries. Spanning since the War of Heroes, the War of the Eagle and Lion, the second rebellion, and now the two of us," Rodrigue reasons, elevating his arms, "History has proven that our houses worth extraordinary well together. Fluid teamwork in the frontlines, sharing an understanding of strategies, and a rapport spanning across centuries."

Gustave listens keenly, letting Rodrigue’s mellow voice occupy the dense air.

“House Fraldarius and House Dominic—inseparable, and profoundly seamless. I dare say, it would be quite a remarkable step if we—both leaders of our families—officially bridge the gap with our children tied in holy matrimony—”

“I refuse,” Gustave cuts in, breaking from his shell, his voice powerful and booming. “I won’t be handing over my unborn daughter to anyone like a trophy—especially not with your own,”

Rodrigue keeps quiet, standing still and seemingly appearing unfazed from this declaration.

A loud, high-pitched wail erupts, and quickly, Rodrigue squats to his knees to scoop up Felix from his eldest son’s arms. “Shh, it’s okay Felix,” He utters softly, bringing the baby close to his chest and stroking his back comfortingly.

As Felix wails blaringly and Rodrigue attempts to put him at ease, he hears Glenn call out to him who darts his finger straightforward. Following his direction, Rodrigue turns, disheartened to find his old friend retreating away from them and walking briskly out to the open exit of the halls.

As a Fraldarius is acquainted with loneliness, a Dominic comes to familiar terms of leaving the other.

…And like history, it inevitably repeats.

* * *

On the ninth day of Harpstring Moon, a child of Dominic was born.

—A baby girl, blessed with her family’s trademark bright, orange hair and large, blue eyes.

“Annette Fantine,” Gustave’s wife—Francine, mumbles to her husband who sits close to her near the bedside as she cradles their infant babe, draped over a white cloth, protectively in her arms.

“Fantine?” Gustave wonders aloud and glances at his youngest brother—Antoine who looks back at him, sharing the same, wondrous look as he did. “What spurred you to pick such a name?”

Francine cranes her head the other way to face him and simply smiles. 

“Don’t you see how she radiates like the sun, my love?” She begins to explain and lets out an airy laugh. “Graced by the skies of the Goddess Seiros, our daughter shall bring joy to those near, bring kindness and love to the world,” A pause. “And I pray…from the books I’ve read, that she will capture the very image of the Maiden of Wind,”

“Annette Fantine Dominic…” Antoine tests the name himself and smiles when he hears it flowing out wonderfully. “I agree. A fitting name for our very first heiress born in almost four centuries,”

Gustave shifts his fixation to his daughter, emitting a light smile.

Slowly, he reaches out and with one draw of his index finger, gently brushes his skin against her soft, chubby right cheek. To his surprise, baby Annette coos, capturing his finger with her tiny hands and gurgles animatedly.

The delightful sounds of his daughter’s first laugh, along with his wife and brother’s reaches his ears, and eventually, he joins as well.

For a brief moment, Gustave allows himself to lower his defenses. His indifferent visage thaws under the touch of his newborn daughter, little by little. He was to be a father, and as a father, he must uphold.

To protect this tiny life, and most of all, promise her with a future, and happiness she rightfully deserves.

* * *

Blood, war, and fire.

Fallen lives, broken carriages, and banners of blue flapping violently from the fierce winds.

The horrific screams and torment were fresh in his mind, and the more he thought of it, the more he was reminded of his priority, his responsibility—his mission, to protect His Highness Lambert, and young prince Dimitri was a failure.

Among the students, he took under his wing was Glenn, his old friend Rodrigue's eldest son—fighting valiantly under the very end and then later succumbing to his heavy wounds, contributing to the heavy piles of dead bodies in the wake of the ravaging flames.

Dying as what a true knight should be.

But Gustave…he failed to do so.

He failed in his stead, and as a friend to His Highness and Rodrigue.

Following the event of what became known as the Tragedy of Duscur, was the Queen Consort, Lady Patricia’s mysterious disappearance. As the Kingdom was in shambles, with Rodrigue, Sylvester of House Gautier and Pierre of House Galatea working tirelessly to keep things in order, Gustave did the one thing he least expected himself to do—flee.

He needed peace from this nightmare…and ultimately renounces his noble title as Baron of House Dominic.

To run from his past, from his family, and start anew, and in the next few years, wanders throughout Fódlan for a place of sanctuary—he does so, believing it to be the right thing to do, no—to be the only thing to do.

Eventually, he finds himself at the doorsteps of Garreg Mach and gaining empathy from Archbishop Rhea and Seteth was granted with a position in the Knights of Seiros.

Finally, a new purpose, a new home.

Another chance of redemption, and to recompensate of what remains of his lingering guilt.

Gilbert Eddie Dominic, the Stalwart Knight was no more.

Now, he is Gilbert Pronislav.

…But the shame is still there.

And haunts him, knowing that he suddenly threw his poor younger brother into a status he was not ready to take on his own, and of most, leaving his dear wife and daughter without any trace of a letter to ease their worries.

So he prays—morning, afternoon, evening, and night.

For his late Highness Lambert.

For his late student, Glenn.

For his brother Antoine.

For his wife Francine.

For his daughter Annette.

And he repeats.

He writes in journals, reporting almost every single day as he could inside his quarters…to his wife, his brother, and especially, to his one and only daughter Annette, with messages of congratulating each milestone of her birthday and in some occasions, writing to her of his daily activities and missions.

Anything to ease the pain sweltering in him.

And when that was not enough, Gilbert resorts to carving wooden dolls, ones he would present to his daughter…all of them resembling her eight-year-old self—one which he remembers quite vividly. Each time he finishes one stares longingly at the toys he'd made, and stuffs them inside his drawer where many were laid to rest, untouched and collecting dust.

* * *

Annette was here at the Academy, placed in the Blue Lions.

Knowing that Gilbert keeps to himself, lurking in the shadows and watchful of his distance.

Frequently he would avoid her and yet…observe her from afar.

His dear, sweet child Annette—she had grown considerably well, looking quite similarly as his wife when she was quite young herself (along with the same hairstyle), and inside, he couldn't help but feel pleased to see how in spite of her appearance, she was still the same, young girl he'd spoil rotten with sweets and wood-carving toys.

Gilbert takes a step forward, but then stops himself and stares at his clenched hand. Sighing, he moves away and into the darkness where he lingers…and submits to the missions Seteth would give to him, throwing himself into the frontlines in seek of a distraction.

…But the Goddess Seiros has other plans for him.

To his disdain, the poor knight becomes assigned as a chaperone for the new Professor instructing the Blue Lions. His daughter, Annette was there…but along with her was a familiar face, a young man with dark hair pulled up into a tight bun, and narrow, copper eyes…

Focused and driven, exceptionally gifted with the blade, and flexible in his move set.

The very sight frightened Gilbert, freezing in his spot every so often.

It couldn’t be…right?

Or were the ghosts of his past finally catching up to remind him of his failure?

This strange young man—one who bears the appearance of his late student terrified him to the core. Still, he stays resilient through it all and after the battle, chooses to ignore his daughter’s plea and the man’s intense staring in favor of the young prince Dimitri—one he was most grateful to reunite with.

One after another, his efforts to escape the clutches of his past, which he tried hard to forget turned futile…and by then, a likely encounter with a dear old friend of his was sure to be imminent.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was quick for me to write, especially as I was able to fit into Gustave's shoes and understand his situation.
> 
> As much as I hate this man for distancing himself from Annette, I do take pity on him. For the next chapters, we will be diving into the bond between Rodrigue and Gustave. I hope that my writing was able to spark some sense of sympathy for this character as well, and if not, well...I'll just have to try even harder for the next chapters to come!
> 
> Felix and Annette will have cameos every now and then, starting in this chapter, so be sure to keep your eyes peeled for the minor details!
> 
> Thank you all for being patient and for taking the time to read! I know that for many of you, it is finals week, and I deeply apologize for suddenly posting at such a terrible time. But to those who have read and have written comments from previous chapters, know that I've read them and that they've boosted so much strength for me! 
> 
> To the notable folks--Star, ThePrimeOne, Bia, and Bready--thank you all for your kind words (they were lovely to read!)
> 
> I'll see you all tomorrow with another update!


	5. Sworn Brothers Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of the next chapter!
> 
> ((Before reading, please note that I will be taking a short break and will return to my updates by the end of this weekend as I will be preparing for my coming finals! This message will be repeated at the endnotes so be warned!))
> 
> No time for chit-chat, let's dive right in!

* * *

“…Gustave, is that you?”

Gilbert stiffens in place yet clears his throat and fretfully peers over his shoulder.

His long-time friend has not changed since their last meeting—about four years ago, on the evening before the great Tragedy of Duscur occurred. He was pleasant as always, retaining his friendly demeanor and cheerfulness as if the death of his eldest son never came to pass.

…But Gilbert knew better than anyone else, of how strong his friend had gone through in spite of the heavy losses he experienced through the course of his life.

Before the birth of his second son came the loss of his wife, Evangeline from childbirth.

His best friend and Majesty, Lambert Eggite Blaiddyd and eldest son, Glenn from the Tragedy.

Becoming reminded of this, Gilbert straightens his posture, frowning deeply and bowing rather awkwardly as he watches his friend catch up to him.

“So this is where you’ve been!” Rodrigue chuckles, patting him on the shoulder. “And here I thought you’ve been avoiding me this whole time!”

“Truthfully, I was,” Gilbert wanted to say, but closes his mouth to keep it in. Instead, he lets his friend’s boisterous laughter fill in the dense, empty silence of the second floor.

“A reunion like this must be celebrated with a banquet,” Rodrigue insists, and surely enough, drags his senior friend from his post and into the dining halls where they were met with a large cluster of students and knights rushing in and out.

After getting in line and receiving their meals from the front counter, the pair seated themselves to the closest table—Gilbert on the right and Rodrigue across from him.

“Tell me what you’ve been up to, my friend,” Rodrigue persists, taking his silver knife and cutting a piece of the Beast Meat evenly on his plate.

“There isn’t much to talk about,” Gilbert admits, staring lamely on his food. “If you must know, I’ve decided to change my name for the better,”

“With what name?”

A long pause.

“…Gilbert,”

Rodrigue widens his eyes. “After your grandfather?”

Gilbert nods firmly.

At this, Rodrigue dips his chin a little, smiling sadly.

"I see now," He mutters, and places his utensils on the side napkin provided for him. "It's no wonder Antoine refuses to address your name whenever I pay him a visit or the many letters I've sent to you have returned,"

He inhales a deep breath, leaning back on his seat and crossing his arms. “Sylvester, Pierre and I received word from Antoine regarding his new title as the next Baron of House Dominic,” His voice begins to grow softer, quieter. “It pains me to say that I feel a bit secluded from the rest almost every time we meet to discuss the border control and the state of the Kingdom…Aside from your kid brother and Pierre, Sylvester would often cause feuds with a few of the nobles attending,"

Gilbert rolls his eyes. “Not too surprising,”

After a minute of silence, the two friends resume their dining.

“My surviving son, Felix Hugo, is attending Garreg Mach this year,” Rodrigue changes the topic, sounding more eager, “I’ve been trying to relocate him after checking in on the young prince, and still empty-handed,”

“Have you checked the training grounds?”

Rodrigue nods.

“The Knight’s Hall?”

Another nod.

“The Cathedral?”

This time, Rodrigue smiles sorrowfully. "He…has not stepped foot in there since the Tragedy,"

Gilbert winces for his sudden assumption. “I apologize,”

"Nonsense, old friend," Rodrigue says with a gentle tone and offers him a languid grin. “The past is the past now. The future is what we must look forward to,”

Registering his words, Gilbert relaxes and stares blankly at his plate.

“…I’ve seen him,”

Rodrigue looks up at his friend, full of curiosity and worry. “Oh?”

Gilbert reflects the battle at the Tower, to the young man with the striking resemblance of his late student and bobs his head weakly. "He looks just like him…" He trails off, shutting his eyes closed. "Your eldest, I mean,”

Rodrigue doesn’t say a word and lets the bustling life within the open space to fill in the void between them. “I agree…A mirror image, indeed,” He sighs, and setting his hands on the table, he, too closes his eyes to reminisce. “After all these years, he still griefs…as do I,”

* * *

For the rest of the month, the old friends took time catching up and sharing stories of their own experiences—Rodrigue with his busy schedule hopping back and forth from the Capital of Fhirdiad to his home, and Gilbert with his knightly duties serving under Archbishop Rhea.

Seemingly, their lack of communication going on for four long years became quick to dismiss.

Sworn as brothers-in-arms since their youths, their bond proved to be as greatly impermeable as were their ancestors.

The last week of the Verdant Moon came, marking the end to Rodrigue's month-long visit. Before his departure, he was quick to locate his old friend near the open spaces of the Entrance Hall to enlighten him with interesting news.

“I’ve seen your daughter around," Rodrigue begins and catches his old friend frowning deeply. "Annette was it?”

“I am aware of her attending,” Gilbert comes clean with it, narrowing his eyes. “What of it?”

The spawning of Rodrigue’s smile irked the latter, making him grow nervous.

“Do you recall what I’ve asked of you seventeen years ago?”

Gilbert quirks an eyebrow, giving him a weird look.

Rodrigue chuckles at this. "It is fine, my friend," He says and pats him on the shoulder in assurance. "I believe you should see it for yourself,"

Gilbert blinks, not quite understanding the meaning of his words. “…See what?”

Rodrigue gives him a knowing look, then laughs heartedly when his poor friend turns dead quiet.

“Just wait and see,” Rodrigue points out to him, and then proceeds to pat his old friend on the shoulder. “If I were you, I’d keep a close eye on your little girl…and see what else would unfold,”

And just like that, Rodrigue leaves, moving on to say his farewells to the young Prince who waits eagerly for him down the staircase with the young Professor and his retainer, Dedue at his side.

Alone once more, the old knight contemplates carefully over his friend’s finals words.

His little girl, Annette.

A proposition made seventeen years ago.

Gilbert glances at the retreating figure of his friend one more time, and as he gradually disappears from his line of sight, the stone-faced knight curses to himself for the lack of cues he’d gathered from their conversation.

Did Rodrigue know something he didn't?

If so, what was it?

* * *

It was in the third week of the Ethereal Moon that Gilbert acquires his answer.

The night of the Ball, a lavish event where students and faculty come to unwind and perform on the dance floor merrily, usually joined by a partner of their choice, for the rest of the night.

For those employed in the Knights of Seiros, Gilbert and his colleagues were excused to partake the festivities. Under Lady Rhea’s orders, he and the three knights—Catherine, Shamir, and Alois, were to focus their efforts patrolling through the open campus, investigating for any suspiciousness or of looming danger or enemies.

At such a time of peace, the possibility of a surprise attack could likely concur.

And for the next thirty minutes, Gilbert was determined to see his mission through.

No more failures this time, for certain.

After appointing each other with a specific place to patrol, the rest came naturally. Catherine took care of the first and second-floor dormitories, training grounds and the dining hall, Shamir in the stables, classrooms and main entrance, Alois at the greenhouse, marketplace, and the faculty floor, with Gilbert covering the cemetery, Cathedral, and the Goddess Tower.

Gilbert briskly maneuvered through the empty halls, leaving nothing unturned and for extra precautions, would retrace his steps and survey the whole area twice before resuming to the next area of interest.

Thankfully, he manages to stumble across a few students loitering around—some taking midnight strolls with friends, and others venturing off to the Cathedral for their evening prayer.

For the most part, all was well.

Finally, he was standing in front of the Goddess Tower.

He shifts his feet a little, clenching and unclenching his fists in a force of habit. He breaths in, and then closes his eyes for a bit—and the image of his dear wife resurfaces.

As a former student himself, being two years older than his late Highness and Rodrigue, he was no stranger to the popular rumor.

It was believed that if two people were to meet each other at this particular night of the Ball, the pair would be fated to reunite. In recent years, such interpretations were changed to attract those who are chasing love.

And that if they were to proclaim their love for one another at the very same place they met years ago, great fortune would fall upon them and promising their love to be eternal.

To his embarrassment, Gilbert remembers his youthful days as a student, and before graduating, was invited by a girl to meet up with him at the Tower. He knew of nothing of the legend but was impressed by the girl's heartfelt confession to him.

Years later, and he would meet her again at the Capital of Fhirdiad—she was an apprentice for a blacksmith, and he was climbing up the ranks to be the youngest general of the King’s army.

Lo and behold, that beautiful woman he came to know and eventually wed turned out to be his wife, Francine.

Yet, the superstition didn’t stop there.

The same thing would happen similarly to Rodrigue with his late wife, Evangeline, and his late Majesty, Lambert with his first wife.

That being said…

Gilbert ponders for a moment, mulling the thought.

Finally, he sighs.

Legend or not might as well get over with it.

And so, he drags himself to the first few steps of the long, winding staircase. The whole time, he keeps quiet, lest not to disturb any students possibly professing their love for—

_"Moonbeams, crystal dreams~”_

Gilbert’s eyes widening.

…Is someone singing?

He stops midway, listening keenly for the sound. And when it tickles his ears again, he finds himself captivated by the bouncy, light-hearted singing.

_“Fancy shoes, and pretty beams~ Dressed all proper, from head to toe~ Ready to dance, and raring to go~”_

Growing curious, Gilbert follows the enticing sound, trudging further up the staircase. Upon arriving at the last step, he advances through the halls, and as he closes in on the corner…

His eyes slowly unravel, his mouth slightly opening partly.

Annette was there, dancing and singing to herself under the moonlight. She was alone, it seems, and from the blissful look on her face, was having the time of her life. She continues to sing her heart out, passionately than before, and Gilbert couldn’t help but allow the small smile on his lips to spread.

My, how she grew to be so wonderful and how quickly she’s beginning to grow.

If he could recall, before he had left on his mission, she was barely reaching up to his mid-torso. Gilbert quickly shakes off the rest of the dreadful event and fixes his attention to the sight before him.

A dainty little thing, and she still was in his eyes.

From the corner of his eye, he spots a shadow—another person was close by.

Immediately, Gilbert was high on alert, sliding his hand to the handle of his blade attached to his belt. If he wasn't careful, this unwelcomed intruder could be the danger he'd been looking for.

But then—

“BAH—!”

Gilbert flinches at this and collecting his breath, manages to recover. He reverts his gaze on his daughter, but now, she wasn't alone.

Somebody was with her.

But who could it—

“Felix, what are you doing here?”

Gilbert furrows his eyebrows, frowning.

…No, it couldn’t be.

“I wanted to get away from the party,” The new voice remarks, “And you?”

There’s hesitation in Annette’s part.

“That’s none of your business!” She suddenly cries, “You know, I’m still not over with what you said!”

Gilbert blinks, mildly dumbfounded. He nears the corner, moving stealthily in the dark and as he gets a better look at the scene, everything stops registering in his brain.

Rodrigue’s surviving son was here, conversing with his only daughter.

From the looks of it, there seems to be a strange tension between them.

“About what?” Felix asks innocently, loud enough for the knight to hear in the background. “What did I say?”

Even from a distance, Gilbert could tell that Annette was puffing her cheeks, her face burning deep crimson from the embarrassment.

“About you permanently memorizing my songs!” She reveals to him, clearly annoyed. “Please, just forget about them!”

“I can’t,” Felix says to her bluntly, and he puts a hand on his hip. A corner of his lip twitches. “Too late. It’s already been ingrained in my head,”

Annette stomps her feet, and yet, it came off as looking adorable.

Gilbert notices Felix grin, and inside, he could feel something twisting in his stomach.

For some reason, he wanted to wipe that cheeky smile off his face.

He slides his hand again on the handle of his sheathed weapon, and then pauses, waiting for the right moment to make himself known to rescue his poor daughter.

…It never came.

Instead, something else happens and it amazes him.

Felix reaches his hand out toward Annette, to which the former stares at it, then at him weirdly.

“What are you doing?”

In spite of how far away he seemingly was from them, Gilbert could already tell from the boy’s body language that he was—

“Just take it,” He tells her, his voice slightly shaking. But his tone didn’t come off as quite rude nor boorish. It was strangely gentle, to say the least.

Annette still stood there, quite unsure herself.

She looked conflicted, staring intensely at the hand waiting for her, and to her housemate who was already showing visual signs of trembling.

“Felix, are you okay? Are you cold?”

“I’m fine,” He answers quickly, his face blowing up red. “Come on, what are you waiting for? Take my hand!”

“What if I don’t want to?” Annette barks at him, blushing. “What are you going to do, huh?”

No response.

“Felix?”

Gilbert moves a little closer and zooms in on the quiet boy.

His expression was unreadable, but the eyes were—

Gilbert's eyes widen again, and this time, it finally dawns on him.

Was this what Rodrigue was hinting at before he left?

That his boy—Felix, could be…

“Let me dance with you, just this once,” Felix says to the girl in front of him, his voice softer, and somber. He lifts his chin, and locking eyes with Annette, redirects his hand out for her to take. “It’ll be over, I swear,”

Annette hesitates and moves her feet uncomfortably.

“…Please, Annette?”

Hearing this, Annette looks up, blushing mad. She looks at the hand bestowed to her, then to the dark-haired boy, who too, looked like his face was heating up.

“Felix, are you blushing?”

“I’m not!” Felix suddenly exclaims, and at this, Annette giggles. He clicks his tongue and looks the other way, though smiles a little again.

To Gilbert's surprise, Annette steps up and accepts his hand. "Fine, you win," She surrenders and smiles earnestly. "Just this once, okay?"

Felix nods, agreeing with her. “Just this once,” He repeats, “And don’t tell anyone that I did this,”

“I won’t,” Annette assures, “If you could promise to me that you won’t spill about me singing,”

Felix nods, and as he places his hand on her right hip, and claiming her other one with his own, his expression softens.

Under the moon, the pair danced away.

And the whole time, Gilbert remains where he stands, observing them.

His sweet daughter, Annette was dancing clumsily with Rodrigue’s surviving heir, Felix who was struggling to keep up with her fluid movement.

Laughter resonates erupts—coming out from Annette, and as it echoes brightly throughout the open, wide space they were in, Gilbert catches Felix drinking in her beauty and after so, a genuine smile emerges, directing it his dancing partner who was in a world of her own.

But as Annette reopens her eyes to set her gaze back on him, the smile disappears instantly and Felix swiftly avoids her, looking the other way and blushing madly.

Upon realization that he was watching an intimate moment, Gilbert returns to reality and looks to his left to see the staircase. He contemplates, whether he should remain here and keep watch or leave.

…He stays—only for a little while longer, letting himself relax and capture the memory of his only daughter shining brightly with Rodrigue’s son oblivious to his growing admiration for her, and eventually dismisses himself, descending the steps.

Gilbert allows the two to have their moment…unaware that in due time, what had happened at the Goddess Tower foretold the beginning of something new.

* * *

The Adrestian Empire—under the leadership of their crowned Emperor, Edelgard von Hresvelg.

Fire wafts, and burns everything in its way—it spreads, devours, and consumes the lives of many more. Gilbert finds himself returning to the battleground of the great Tragedy and nearly loses himself when Lady Rhea and the acclaimed Professor were declared to be missing.

And like before, Gilbert left the Monastery in search of a temporary haven.

Weeks later, and he found it…at House Fraldarius.

Rodrigue welcomed him with open arms and led him to the guestroom where he would remain for a few months. While there, Gilbert kept in contact with the other Knights of Seiros, and with Rodrigue present near his stead, the two friends were able to rally the other heads and nobles from various Houses to initiate their mission—to find their long, lost prince.

Days turned to weeks, and weeks became months.

Before long, Gilbert stayed at the Fraldarius domain for almost three months.

Though he was constantly out from the estate, accompanied by his old friend and several troops as they searched tirelessly for their missing liege, one of the rare moments when he would be left on his own accord, he would be wood carving.

Anything that pops into his mind—he would make from his hands.

And most of the time, it was his wife and daughter.

One day, he ran out of wood to carve.

Gilbert felt conflicted over whether he should inform his old friend and ask if he could receive more, but then again…woodcarving was a hobby of his, and nothing more. He leaves it at that and resumes with his duties to search for his prince.

The next time he returns to his quest room, he discovers a large pile of wood at his doorstep.

Immediately, the knight rushes to his old friend’s office, thanking him graciously for the offering.

Rodrigue leans back against his chair and smiles. “It wasn’t me,”

“What do you mean?” Gilbert wonders, furrowing his eyebrows. “You are the only one here who knows of my likeness to carve wood,”

Silence.

The smile on Rodrigue’s face spreads. “I assure you, old friend…it was not me,”

Gilbert was left in the dark, anticipating over his secret giver. As he sat on the couch in the common room, he slices a few of the wood he held with one hand, focusing on trying to make it transform into something new, or really anything that comes into mind.

“Why are you still doing here?”

Gilbert looks up and spots the young heir with a prickly expression. His gaze lingers on the newcomer and shrugs his shoulders. “Don’t mind me,” He says nimbly, and picks up with where he left off on his carving.

He could feel the intensity of staring behind his head and Gilbert grows uncomfortable.

He hears some rustling in the background, and slyly, Gilbert peers his head up. He finds Felix making himself comfy on the nearby couch, already flipping pages of a book in his possession. Gilbert waits for something to happen, but nothing does.

“Are you going to continue or what?” Felix asks coolly, without bothering to look back at him.

Then it hits him.

Gilbert emits a heavy sigh, dipping his head.

As he carves the piece of wood again, he tries hard to suppress the smile twitching on his lips, as he listens to the soft flipping of the pages dwindle to a halt and with silence, comes the fixation of curious eyes on him.

…He found his giver.

By the end of that week, Gilbert dismisses himself from the Fraldarius estate.

He bids farewell to his old friend Rodrigue and carries the same message onto Felix, who politely nods and says nothing after. Gilbert notices this and materializes a faint grin, and then requests for the young man to take out his hands.

Felix looks at him with narrowed eyes and yet, abides by his request.

Gilbert reaches out, and ever so carefully, offers him two small items—a carving of a sword and shield.

"Thank you for the wood," He says softly, but Felix manages to catch it and he flinches from where he stands, looking up with widened eyes and a partially opened mouth, his face deeply crimson—caught red-handed.

Gilbert doesn’t say further as he turns his back from them, goes on to approach his horse and mounts it. And off he went—to the battlefield once more.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reunion chapter will come in and will focus more on our main pair.
> 
> This particular chapter was fun and exciting to write, especially as I wanted to be able to get an insight of Gilbert and Rodrigue's opinions regarding the slow development of felannie's romance unfolding before their very eyes.
> 
> The Goddess Tower is special, as I wanted to align it well with felix and annette's supports (making it B+ support, in my books!)
> 
> That being said, expect more things to come in the next chapter!
> 
> ...Unfortunately, I would like you all to know that I would be taking a quick break and will return with my updates by the end of the weekends to replenish my energy--finals week will be coming pretty soon, and will need some time to gather strength in order to edit the chapters.
> 
> And who knows, maybe next week, there will be more stories for me to publish!
> 
> That's all for now, and to those who commented/gave kudos, thank you so much for your support!
> 
> And to the readers, thank you for taking the time to read this!
> 
> See you all soon!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Welcome to my crash-course history of Fodlan, with House Fraldarius and Dominic taking center stage! In this particular narrative, we trace back to the very beginning, to many references alluding to certain events from the game, and beyond the future! But let's not get ahead of ourselves!
> 
> Alas, this is only just the beginning! Tomorrow will be another chapter, so please look forward to it!
> 
> To those who did not receive the dedication notification, let me know as there were some who I couldn't link here. As always, I wish you all a wonderful day!


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